Before Claus could say ‘patriotic songs’, Paul said hastily, ‘Would you pass the peas, Grandfather? And what do you think about the new Olympic record that was set in the four hundred metres last month? Pretty impressive, wasn’t it?’

His ploy worked. Suitably diverted, his grandfather gave his opinion of Eric Liddell’s stupendous run and a general discussion followed as to how much help Liddell’s experience as a fast-running international rugby player had been to him.

From the other side of the table, Max suddenly said: ‘Do you think Lotti’s friend is shy, Paul, or do you think she’s stand-offish? I can’t get a word out of her.’

Hugo, who rarely spoke, uncharacteristically pitched in before Paul had the chance to reply. ‘Hester is shy,’ he said flatly. ‘And asking her all that stuff about why the Jewish Sabbath is a Saturday and not a Sunday, and what sort of a meal they have for it and why, was a bit much if you don’t mind me saying so. How would you like it if you visited her family and they immediately started asking you questions about the Church of England?’

‘Well, if they did, I’d be a bit stuck,’ Max said with his usual disarming frankness. ‘All I know is the Henry the Eighth bit and that some of the hymns are pretty good. Are we going to go on a picnic to Fountains Abbey while Great-Uncle Charles is with us?’ he asked, directing the question to his mother. ‘Fountains Abbey is always a good bet for a family day out. Even Grandpa likes it there.’

His grandfather was deep in conversation and oblivious to the suggestion. ‘Adam Priestley, Charles?’ Paul heard him saying. ‘Yes, I see him quite often. He’s a good wool man. Priestley’s was always a fine mill, but since his father’s death Adam has turned it into an exceptional one.’

‘And is he still the most eligible widower in Yorkshire?’ Charles Wallace asked with interest. ‘Or has he by now remarried?’

‘He’s still the most eligible widower in Yorkshire, much to the frustration of the local matriarchs who have been trying to secure him as a son-in-law and, it must be said, to the intense disappointment of their daughters.’

Their conversation turned to that day’s news report of the discovery of remains of an ancient civilization in the Galapagos Islands. Paul ceased to listen.

He was watching his aunt as the dinner plates were cleared and the pudding—a baked jam-roll—was placed on the table. She, like him, had overheard the conversation and there was a touch of heightened colour in her cheeks.

Anyone noticing it would probably assume the steaming pudding to be the culprit. He knew differently.

That his aunt and Adam Priestley were in love was something he had known for about three years. Before that, like Max and Hugo, he had thought Adam’s asking after his aunt whenever they ran into him at school rugby matches, and his aunt’s reciprocal queries as to whether they had seen Adam lately, had been merely neighbourly good manners.